Misdirection
by Fairady
Summary: In order to take care of your partner's secrets, you have to know them first. At least, that was the explanation he was going to go with if this all blew up in his face.


Disclaimer: I own not and make no money off of this.

Warnings: Not a whole lot.

Notes: And I only hear about the good shows long after they're cancelled. Figures.

Misdirection  
by Fairady

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Shraeger snorted as she threw herself violently to the left, wrapping herself up into a lumpy, flower print covered burrito shape before settling peacefully back into the deep sleep only the heavily intoxicated could manage.

Jason counted to twenty before allowing himself to move again. When there was no further movement or noise from the bed he uncovered the beam of the pen light and returned his attention to the closet. It was a tangled snarl of boots, shoes, heels, and impossibly soft shirts with too many holes in them. He patiently and methodically combed through the mess, careful to set each piece back exactly as he'd found it before going on to the next section.

He found what he was looking for in the back right corner of the closet beneath a worn looking pair of cowboy boots and a cheery yellow tanktop. Jason carefully picked up the lockbox, getting a feel for the weight of what was inside before he pulled away from the closet. He cast one last look at his partner to make sure she was still doing her best impression of a TexMex dish before taking his spoils out into the main living area of her apartment.

Silently pulling the bedroom door mostly shut behind him, Jason let himself relax. The lockbox was small and light in his hands. Which kept well with the story of what it supposedly held. He placed it on the coffee table in front of Shraeger's sinfully comfortable couch and examined the lock. It was simple and straight forward, almost too easy.

Jason made a satisfied sound as the lock fell open under his fingers, the lock picks he'd borrowed from Banks earlier that week making the job much easier than he'd anticipated. Inside was a simple, brown journal and a variety of bic pens wrapped up in a rubber band. Jason cast one last look at the bedroom his partner slept in and pulled the journal out, flipping it open to where a bookmark marked a page.

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_Traci moaned as Will pushed her up against the cold metal of the precincts lockers. His hands hot brands that seared through her clothes and straight into her flesh. Her heart pounded in time with the ache between her legs. The ache to be filled was almost physical and it was all she could do not to wrap her legs around her partner and beg him to take her right there, right now. "We shouldn't!"_

_Will leaned close. So close she could feel his hot breath against her lips, could almost taste his lips against her own. His blue eyes were a fiery pit of hunger and want. Pinning her as thoroughly as his hands. "I don't care, Traci. Ever since we've been partnered I've wanted this. I've wanted you. I can't stand not having you anymore!"_

_"But we can't," Traci panted, her resolve fading fast under the dual assault of her lust and his wandering hands. It was a fierce fight. All the reasons why the shouldn't, couldn't do this falling apart under his sure hands. Just like every reservation she'd had leaving Vice and partnering with a man in a new division who'd so recently lost his partner to murder._

_Will pressed his body against her and she could feel the hardness hiding in his pants. Dispelling the last of her reserves as she gasped and shuddered. Powerless to resist her own hunger for that hardness to be inside her. Her panties were soaked and stuck to her as she shifted, imagining the sweet ache of that hot rod parting her lips and plunging into her._

_Traci smiled, arching up into his calloused hand and said, **"Jason, you asshole, I knew you'd look! Quit perving on my hobbies and leave my shit alone!"**_

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Jason carefully replaced the lockbox. Making sure the tanktop and boots looked exactly the same as before. He contemplated going through the closet again to find the _real_ lockbox, but decided against it for the moment. It was late and he had to be up early enough to have some bacon frying when Shraeger inevitably drug her hungover ass into his home to bitch and moan some more about Davis.

There'd be plenty of opportunities to find the real dirt in the future. Especially if he didn't do anything to alert her to the fact that he'd fallen for her obvious trap.

Retreating for the night, Jason paused at the bedroom door and threw a salute at his unconscious partner, "Well, played, but this isn't over yet."

The door clicked shut and Casey Shraeger obliviously slept through the night.

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End file.
